


first aid

by holdenscoffee (spacebarista)



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/holdenscoffee
Summary: After the failed Martian takeover of the Pinus Contorta, Naomi finds Holden in the med bay in need of some help. (Part missing scene, part canon scene.)





	first aid

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I saw that Nolden scene in 3.04 I knew I was a goner. I LOVED that scene and everything about it. But I was still a little disappointed we didn't see that med bay chemistry these two have considering Holden lives in the medbay. So I took the scene we got and wrote a scene we could have had. I also snuck in part of one of my favorite Nolden mini interactions from the books. There's also hints at someone from her past from the books, but nothing too explicit or spoilery.
> 
> Special thanks to thetruecaptain for reading this and every excerpt, as well as giving me insight and feedback I might have missed when it came to the bits of introspection.
> 
> Enjoy! And please review if you have a minute!

“ _Ow_.”

 

Naomi’s heading back to Ops when she hears it. A pitiful groan and a heavy sigh coming from the med bay. Sounds she’s heard before from the same room. In the same voice. Her chest tightens.

 

A few weeks previously, Naomi wouldn’t hesitate to step into Holden’s least favorite room on the _Roci_ to help erase his pain. After the days of his recovery from Eros, the terrifying hours of unconsciousness after the monster attack… her first instinct had always been to make sure he’s okay. But with this rift between them, hurt she can’t fix with a bandage or medication… there’s a hesitation. She’s a bit ashamed of it, of the small voice telling her not to help him. After everything that happened with the _Kittur_ survivors, it has gotten quieter. But it’s still there. The walls he built between them made it too strong to completely erase.

 

Jim curses softly, a hiss barely audible over the hum of the _Roci_. The _Pinus Contorta_. Still loud enough to drown out that small voice. She takes a breath and steps into the med bay.

 

He doesn’t notice her. He’s sat in one of the chairs—the one he’s almost died in _twice_ —with a mirror pulled right up to his face, studying the bloody mess of his nose.

 

When Jim had stepped onto Ops, rifle in hand and cold anger writ plain on his face, worry had battled with relief in Naomi’s mind. His voice had been rough, thick. Blood coated his chin, his lips, the tip of his nose. She’d been held in place by a Martian _child_ as a _shield_ but it had been _Jim_ she was worried about. She’d heard him telling Amos what had happened as he helped Bobbie with Alex in the immediate aftermath. That he’d taken multiple punches to the face grappling with the Martian who had been in the other chair until they moved him to a bunk to get proper rest. Jim had waited until Alex had been tended to until taking care of his bloody, bruised mess of a face.

 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

 

It isn’t until Jim pulls the mirror away from his face, staring at her, that she realizes she’d spoken. She swallows, waiting for him to clear his throat, turn away, ignore her. But he doesn’t. He just stares, brows drawing together in confusion. Naomi’s lips twitch and she shrugs.

 

“Saving people. You just can’t stop yourself.”

 

Jim blinks, relaxes back into the chair. All the air seems to leave him. All the tension. Naomi’s heart hammers in her chest. She has his attention. He isn’t shrugging her off. He isn’t ignoring her. He’s waiting. Listening. For the first time in weeks, hope unfurls in her heart.

 

Naomi had been hurt, but not surprised by his outburst in Ops, before the attempted mutiny. His quiet in the weeks since she’d told him had been almost worse than if he’d yelled at her. At least then she would have had an idea of what he had been feeling. From the beginning, he hadn’t done a single thing that threw what she’d done in her face at her, even when he told her to take the _Razorback_. It had to come to an end eventually. Trust for Jim has become a raw nerve. Nearly as much as the protomolecule had been.

 

Naomi had scorned Jim on Tycho, back when—unknowingly —he’d done the same thing she had. He’d hidden what Cortazar knew. He’d planned to _kill_ him. His motivation for doing so has been _weak_. But he’d told her. He’d told her as soon as she knew. She’d projected her anxiety and fear and _frustration_ at him for silencing her, for forcing her to hide the protomolecule, onto an omission he’d owned up to. He had no idea. And he’d promised not to do so again.

 

Naomi hadn’t trusted Jim with the same truth. She hadn’t trusted him and Alex and Amos to make the right decision with their sample. How could she? They had no idea what it was like to live on the end of the Inner’s gun, waiting for the hammer to fall on the Belters who just wanted to live and work. They’d never understand and they hadn’t even _tried_ to. So she couldn’t trust that he’d been right. She couldn’t trust _him_. And she hid it.

 

Naomi had played him a _simulation_ and let him believe that she’d done what they’d agreed on for weeks. She’d deceived him. No matter how justified her reasoning, no matter how strongly she _knows_ she’d made the right decision… She'd deceived him to his face and hid the truth for weeks. That she didn’t tell him any part of what she’d done or why until she’d almost _lost him_ makes it worse for her.

 

Jim had been so… angry. Determined. Righteous. So set on his course that nothing any of them had done would have set him off it. He’d just rolled over all of them more than once. So many times Naomi thought she could tell him. After Tycho, until he told off Fred and got them kicked off station. As they toured the devastation of Ganymede, until he’d let Amos beat that hacker. When she was planning to leave him to help Melissa, until he let that scientist die. She’d been steamrolled before. She’s been treated like her feelings, her beliefs don’t matter. Even though Jim hadn’t been that man, it sent her back to places she’d never wanted to see again. So she didn’t tell him. In case he _was_ that man.

 

When she finally got to see the man she’d… When she finally saw the Jim she’d known, it was too late. She’d already done it. And when she’d almost lost him, to a _fucking_ crushed leg and a _fucking_ protomolecule monster—knowing that he almost died alone with the thing he feared most _again_ —and he still hadn’t _known_ … she told him.

 

That is what hurts him. That’s what exposed the nerve. That Jim doesn’t know if she ever would have told him the truth otherwise. That’s what really hurts her. That she doesn't know either.

 

Before Naomi can think about it, she’s crossing the room. The coppery scent of his blood and the blood of those Martian kids clogs her own nose. She still walks with a hesitation, slowly moving closer to him. She watches his face. The confusion slips, but he doesn’t move. He still waits. When she’s in front of him, she slips her hands under his jaw, tips his head up. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull away from her touch. Naomi’s heart beats faster. She avoids his eyes for the moment, taking in the damage the Martian had done to him.

 

Despite her pressing that nerve and him snapping at her, when they’d needed him, when _she_ needed him… Jim still came. And when the ensign had let her go, she’d run to him. Stood behind him absorbing every threat he threw at them if they’d hurt Alex. But he hadn’t carried any of them out. He’d let Bobbie get through to them. Part of her wondered if he’d even loaded the rifle, with the alert sent out to Amos. He isn’t the ruthless man he’s played at after Eros. He isn’t a cold murderer. He isn’t manipulative, self-serving. He isn’t the man she was afraid he was becoming. The man that dark voice tried to convince her he is.

 

He’s still just _Jim_. He still saved them. Still saved _her._

 

Naomi meets his eyes again. “Thank you.”

 

Jim gazes up at her. Slowly, he softens. He shoulders relax. Even his mouth—lips colored dark red by flaking blood—relaxes, opening as if he’s about to say something. He tilts his head in her hands, studies her face.

 

The corners of his lips quirk ever so slightly. Not quite a smile. But something still… _tender_. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

Naomi’s heart stops. Her breath hitches. It’s… more than she expected. She hadn’t expected much at all, but… His words had been barely more than a whisper, but they’d been filled with so much emotion that they resonated in the quiet med bay and her own mind. That dark voice rallies against it. She smiles back at him, just a bit wider than he had.

 

_He’s just saying that_ , the voice says, faded more than the whispers off Eros. _That’s what they do, charm you back to them. Why are you giving him a chance to hurt you again?_

 

_Because I love him_. Her tone is defiant. Confident. _This is_ Jim _and Jim isn’t_ him _and I_ love _him and I think he still loves me._

 

The voice shrinks back. And goes away. She can breathe now. She can focus.

 

“Let’s survey the damage then.”

 

The Martian Jim had wrestled with had done his best to reconfigure Jim’s face. He hadn’t come out nearly as bloody as Jim, but given that he’d _lost_ the fight, Naomi can forgive it. She carefully turns Jim’s face this way and that, trying to ignore the burn of his eyes on her. His nose is swollen, the dark bruising and blood a macabre contrast to his pale skin.

 

“How many hits did he land?”

 

Jim sighs. “Two direct hits. He had good aim for someone punching over his shoulder while getting choked out.”

 

Aside from the “clogged-nose” quality of his voice, he sounds a little fuzzy, likely a mix of exhaustion and pain medication that she’s heard in his voice before. A pang hits her chest at the thought. Would he ever get to _rest_ without some sort of injury involved? Not that an injury has ever actually stopped him before. Death couldn’t stop him. But she drowns _that_ thought in his current, relatively minor injury.

 

Naomi hums, her thumbs moving up to press gently against the bridge of his nose. Jim hisses. “Sorry,” she whispers, but Jim shakes his head just enough to not dislodge her hands.

 

“It’s nothing I haven’t done myself,” he attempts to assure her, another small smile lighting his bloody face. “What’s the verdict?”

 

Naomi releases him, the med bay air cooling the warmth his skin left behind on her palms. “It’s definitely broken, which I think you’ve likely guessed.” She turns to the table beside his chair, tearing open a pack of cleaning wipes. “It’ll be crooked without some cosmetic surgery. But you were too pretty before anyway. It’ll give your face more character.”

 

Jim laughs, something he immediately regrets based on the hitch in his breathing and the soft “ouch” he utters under his breath. Naomi smiles. She takes a wipe out of the pack and turns back to him. His eyes are back on her face. She gestures up. “All right, Captain. Let’s get you cleaned up and somewhat presentable.”

 

Jim gets the hint and tips his head up. Naomi takes his jaw in her hand and starts cleaning around his mouth and chin. She’d rather give the painkillers a little more time to kick in before prodding at his nose again. She’s still careful, mindful of any other bruising or cuts hidden beneath the blood. Pouring every ounce of affection she’s had to hold back into this now familiar routine. She glances up at his face to find his eyes closed, his face completely relaxed.

 

_Trusting_ her _completely_.

 

She resists the part of her that wants to lean in and kiss him, blood be damned. He might not be ready, and pushing it won’t get them anywhere. She’ll take what he’s ready to give, and give him everything he’ll take.

 

It takes two wipes to clean the lower half of Jim’s face. It’s likely it’ll take a good shower or a fresh shave to get all of it, but she’ll leave that to him. Jim flinches at the first touch to his nose. Naomi shushes him, brushes her thumb along his jawline. He sighs. Nods. She sets to work. She puts absolute care into wiping away the blood without pressing hard enough to hurt. It’s so red that for a moment she scrubs at a spot that’s already clean because she couldn’t tell the colors apart. She uses an extra wipe to dab the lines of both cheeks before pulling back to take a look at her work.

 

“You’re going to have some nasty bruises and discoloration for a few days,” she muses. He blinks his eyes open, and she gives him a smile and taps his jaw. “But for now, you’re fine. If anything changes...”

 

Naomi winces and trails off. _Let me know_. She isn’t sure he will. She isn’t sure he’ll take care of himself at all outside of injecting painkillers and drinking coffee, let alone as _her_ to take care of him. She turns away, tossing the soiled wipes in the recycler and moving to wash his blood off her hands. She nearly jumps when she hears his voice.

 

“I’ll let you know.”

 

Naomi takes a breath and glances at him over her shoulder. She catches his eyes on her just as he’s averting his gaze, moving to stand. Caught, even if he doesn’t know it. “Do you… want me to help you to your cabin?” _Our cabin._

 

Jim pauses, _considering_. But when he looks at her he looks apologetic. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I think Avasarala wants me in the galley for something anyway.”

 

The expression on his face, the genuineness in his “I’m fine” compared to the hostile, shutting out tone he’d used about his leg, keeps her heart from sinking. It’s still something. There’s still hope. That, and the mention of their VIP passenger raises bitterness in her instead. “Well, when _her highness_ has finished with you, get some rest. Okay?”

 

She expects him to roll his eyes. To huff and tell her to be nice and leave. But he smiles.

 

“You got it. I’ll get some rack time in. You do the same.”

 

With that Jim leaves, his boots scuffing down the corridor to the ladder.

 

Naomi stares at the spot he’s vacated for a solid minute before actually moving to the sink. Yes, there’s hope. And she’s going to hang onto that for a while. It’s all she has left.

 

For now.


End file.
